


Like The Back Of My Hand

by RaindropsOnDeadRoses



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-22
Updated: 2013-06-24
Packaged: 2017-12-12 14:17:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,121
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/812518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RaindropsOnDeadRoses/pseuds/RaindropsOnDeadRoses
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean end up in each other's bodies. Slashing ensues. Lots and lots of wincest.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Friday

“Sam?” Dean coughed and cleared his throat. “Sam?” Huh. His voice sounded... odd.  
Sam didn't open his eyes, but mumbled, “What, Dean?” and turned onto his side, facing his brother.  
Dean fell out of the bed. Literally, fell onto the floor and refused to get up. Because if he got up, he'd have to see it again. See himself. Lying in the bed across the room from him. And that just wasn't something he could handle at seven a.m.  
“Dude,” Sam began, “what the-”  
“Don't,” Dean warned. “Just leave me here, don't question it, and go back to sleep.” Dean, as badly as he wished he weren't, was coming to terms with exactly what was going on, and quickly added, “Keep your eyes shut, Sam. Do not look at me. Just sleep.”  
Of course, Sam just couldn't listen to a damn word he was told, and lifted his head from the bed to peer down at his brother.  
Or, not his brother.  
Oh, god.  
“Dean.” When Sam spoke again, he realized that his voice was much more gravelly and low than it should be.  
Oh, god.  
“I don't know,” Dean admitted, answering Sam's unasked question. “If we don't talk about it, maybe it'll go away.”  
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure that'll work out real well.”  
If this were any other situation, Dean may have laughed at Sam's usual sarcastic tone being spit at him in his own voice. However, this was not any other situation. This was this situation. The situation of himself and his brother being in one another's bodies. And this was not a situation to laugh about.  
“How the hell could this have even...” Sam trailed off. “God dammit, Dean. Fuckin' witches.”  
Dean clapped his hand over his (Sam's) eyes and groaned. “Why'd we have to take a job in Salem, man? I hate witches. And it was probably your fault. If you would've just given her some like she wanted in the first place-”  
“Seriously?!” Sam exclaimed incredulously. “I'm sorry that I don't let random freaky witches in my pants.”  
“Yeah, well...” Dean sat up, disoriented by how much taller Sam's torso was than his own. “Maybe if you did we wouldn't have problems like this.”  
Sam sighed, burying his face in his pillow. “I need a shower.”  
“No way, dude.” Dean demanded, rising to his feet. “My body, my responsibility to shower. You can take one after we get this all sorted out.”  
Sam turned his head to the side to look at... er... himself. “We're not gonna be able to get shit sorted out until I shower, Dean. I can't function without one. It's like you and coffee.”  
Dean shook his head, refusing to budge. “Hell no. Get up and get dressed. We're gonna head back up to Salem and get that bitch to fix this, because I am really not feelin' bein' Gigantor.”  
Sam rolled his eyes but reluctantly did as he was told, crossing the room to Dean's duffel to pull out a set of clothing and, on instinct, making his way to the bathroom.  
Dean snorted.  
“What?”  
“Who're you hiding from, Sam? Me? It's my body,” Dean pointed out. “And I’m not sure I want you alone with it, anyway. You might decide you like it too much.”  
Sam shot Dean bitchface number five (which, Dean thought, looked fucking weird on himself), but started shucking off his clothes, nevertheless.  
Dean couldn't help but watch. Of course, he saw himself naked every day, but knowing it was Sam made it... different. Sam almost seemed nervous, taking extreme care with the extraction of each article of clothing and pointedly not looking at any part of Dean's body, just getting the job done as respectably as he could.  
When Sam finished and looked up, he caught Dean staring and shook his head. “God, you really are obsessed with yourself, aren't you?”  
Dean blinked and retaliated, “Just made me realize I should record myself stripping, Sammy. Have you seen me lately? Damn.”  
Sam didn't respond. Instead, he began pulling clothes out of his own bag and tossing them to his brother to put on.  
Dean took them and placed them on the bed beside him so that he could get undressed. He pulled off his shirt and started to throw it to Sam, but stopped, pulling his arm back. “Is this mine?”  
Sam held his hand out and Dean passed the shirt to him for him to examine. Sam shrugged. “Dunno. Could be. We get our shit so mixed up all the time, I honestly have no idea.”  
“Huh.” Dean disregarded it and got back to business, pushing Sam's pants and underwear down from his hips. Standing in front of Sam, in Sam's body, naked, Dean sort of understood why Sam had wanted privacy when changing moments ago. It was an odd feeling. More exposing than being naked in your own skin, even. He quickly pulled on a new pair of boxers, almost tripping because he wasn't used to balancing so much height, let alone on one leg, but stopped once they were secured around his waist. Dean began tracing a long scar from low on the left side of his/Sam's stomach to... well, he wasn't going to follow through with the whole thing. It went a little too far down for comfort. “What's this from?” he asked, indicating the scar to Sam.  
Sam looked at it in an assessing manner before responding, “That's from when I was, like, ten. Remember? We were staying in that crappy trailer in Ohio, and Dad was on a hunt. There was a pond outside, and I ran out and jumped in while you were taking a shower. Sliced myself open on a rock.”  
Dean rubbed his jaw. “Oh, yeah. I do remember that. Man, you scared me to death.”  
Sam chuckled. “Yeah. I did.”  
Dean finished re-dressing and swiped the keys to the Impala off the table while Sam shoved their remaining belongings quickly into their bags. “Got everything?” he asked.  
Sam nodded. “Yeah, I think so.”  
Dean began looking around the room, a somewhat lost expression on his face.  
“What?”  
“Making sure we didn't have any scissors anywhere.”  
Sam raised an eyebrow, puzzled. “Why do you need scissors?”  
Dean grinned, then. “Just thought I'd cut your hair. This gives me the perfect opportunity.”  
“You cut my hair, and I swear to god I'll scratch up the car so bad you can't recognize it,” Sam countered without missing a beat.  
“...Bitch.”  
“Jerk.”


	2. Friday Pt. 2

The drive to Salem was relatively uneventful. Both boys just sat glancing at one another from the corners of their eyes and contemplating how odd they looked in the opposites of their usual seats until, finally, Dean pulled into the long driveway of the house where the witch resided.  
When they got out of the car, Dean stepped up to the door in front of Sam, subconsciously guarding him as always, and knocked on the hard wood.  
A moment later, it swung open. No one was behind it, but a, “Come in, boys,” echoed from somewhere down the hall, and the brothers followed it to a small living room.  
“Thought you two might be back.”  
“What the hell-” Dean began, barging into the room and positioning himself face to face (or face to chest, really, considering Sam's height) with the witch.  
Sam reached a hand up and placed it on Dean's shoulder, cutting him off. “Hey. We, uh... We just wanted to ask you a couple of questions. Gemma, is it?”  
The witch nodded, her eyes sparkling. “Yes, Sam.”  
Sam wasn't surprised in the least that she knew which of the brothers she was addressing. He'd known since the beginning that it was her fault. However, the fact that she spoke his name with such certainty just pissed him off. “Look, can you just tell us why you did it?”  
She grinned – actually grinned – and lifted her hand to cup Dean's face. “Well, see, you're both pretty good looking men. Can't deny that. But this body... it's bigger. I like it. Decided I wanted it. And Mr. Prude over there obviously wasn't going to give it up, so I thought, hey, maybe the whore would like to have a good time in his not-so-little brother's skin.”  
Dean looked like he was about a flat second from drawing back his fist and knocking her lights out.  
She raised her hand in front of her face, letting out a slightly demented laugh. “Easy, killer. I’m just kidding. Well, okay, it was the truth, really, but that's not why I did this.”  
“Then why?” Sam asked again, fighting to keep his tone calm.  
She widened her eyes as if the answer was just hanging in the air around them. “Hello? You killed my sister?”  
“Hello?” Dean echoed. “Your sister was killing children! For some fucking youth ritual! And you hated her!”  
Gemma shrugged, unaffected by Dean's sudden change in tone. “Well, yeah, I hated her. Who wouldn't have? She was a bitch. I mean, I may not be the sweetest cupcake on the tray myself, but black magic? She needed to be eliminated.”  
Sam pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. “Then why are you punishing us for getting rid of her? Didn't we kind of do you a favor?”  
“Oh, definitely,” Gemma agreed, taking a seat on the couch behind her. “Gracias. But, you know... she was still my sister. You cut a bloodline that was already a little too short. Had to make you pay somehow. And it could've been worse, right? I'm not actually hurting anyone, here. I never do. Just having a little fun. It'll wear off.”  
Sam and Dean breathed a sigh of relief in unison, and Dean asked, “When?”  
“A week,” Gemma responded nonchalantly.  
Sam rolled his eyes. “Great.”  
“You think you've got it bad? Dude, I don't know how you live like this, but I'm tellin' you right now, I can't handle a week as Sasquach.”  
The amused twinkle in Gemma's eye was countered by a tone of what sounded a bit like honesty when she said, “I'd fix it if I could, guys. Really. I may have been just a bit angry at the time, and I'm sure you can understand why, but you both seem nice enough. As much as I'd love to take it back, though,” and there was the sarcasm again, “I can't. It's a spell. It has to take its sweet time and end when it's ready.”  
Sam placed his head between his hands, elbows rested on his knees, and blew out a long breath. “Well, thanks for... at least telling us, I guess. There's nothing we have to do, right?”  
“Nope. Just wait,” Gemma told him. “And call me when you get your body back if you change your mind, since it doesn't look like Dean here's gonna take advantage of it.”  
Sam tried to ignore the offer (and the wink) and stood up, all but dragging Dean out of the house behind him.  
“Dude,” Dean said once they were back inside the car, “what's with her?”  
Sam shrugged. “She's a witch, man. Whether she's a dark one or not, they're all a little screwy.”  
“No, not that. Why the hell is she into you instead of me?”  
Sam shook his head almost chauvinistically and leaned against the window. “Have you seen me lately?” he asked, mocking his brother's words from earlier that morning. “Damn.”  
“Fuck you,” Dean spat, no real fire behind the words; just brotherly banter.  
“See?” Sam teased. “She's not the only one that wants to.”  
That statement probably shouldn't have sent chills down Dean's spine. Maybe he'd had thoughts once or twice, but that was when he was a kid. Eighteen years old with raging hormones and a not-all-that-unattractive little brother who was just hitting puberty attached to him at the hip twenty-four-seven. He'd pushed all that away a good five, ten years ago. Until he'd woken up in Sam's body. And as much as he tried to deny it, that wasn't helping the situation. Not at all.


	3. Chapter 3

It hadn't been a priority the first day. You know, finding out you were stuck in your brother's body and vice versa kind of threw you for a loop and made you forget about everything else for a while. But, eventually, basic human necessity took over again, and on the second day, Dean? Well, Dean really had to piss.   
He thought it over for far too long, really. It shouldn't have been so complicated. But, it was. Because that would mean touching some areas of his brother's body that he should have been far less than comfortable touching. That was his main concern, though. That it wouldn't be nearly as uncomfortable as it should be. What he really was not the least bit comfortable with was how, all of a sudden, these thoughts about Sam had come back. Sure, being inside his body made things a bit more... personal. But he never would've expected it to trigger anything like this. This had gone away years ago. It didn't need to come back. Ever. He sighed, rubbing his eyes and sitting up on the edge of the bed. He didn't know how to handle this situation. Obviously, it was gonna happen sooner or later. The body had to urinate. But it seemed so... intrusive. He felt like he needed... permission. Yeah, that was it. He needed Sam's permission. So, he picked up a pillow from behind him on the bed and promptly threw it at his brother's head.  
Sam shot straight up, looking around frantically. “What? What is it, what happened?”  
Dean found the expression on his own face remarkably comical and couldn't help but let out a small laugh. “It's alright, Sammy. Chill. Nothing's wrong. I just... had a question. Or, more of a concern, really.”  
Sam fell back against the bed, groaning. “And that was how you chose to wake me up? Jesus. What do you want?”   
Dean hadn't really thought out the part about how it would be extremely awkward to explain to your little brother that you need to use his dick to take a leak and ask if it was cool with him. “Uh...”  
“What?” Sam asked again, his tone slightly annoyed.  
“You... you don't have the biggest bladder in the world, dude,” was what Dean ingeniously managed to come up with.  
Sam blinked. Raised an eyebrow. “O...kay?”   
“So, uh...” Dean clasped his hands. Unclasped them. “I kinda need to... ya know... empty out the facilities.”  
“Why...” Sam stopped and squinted the way he always had when he'd been thinking too hard about a trigonometry problem in high school. “Why do I need to know that you have to pee, Dean?”  
“Well, it's... it's your equipment, man, I just thought I'd let you know before I handled it.”  
Sam scoffed. “Dean. We're stuck like this for a week. Unless you were planning on giving me the worst UTI in history, it was gonna have to happen sometime. I mean, I didn't ask you before I did it. Kind of a second-nature thing.”  
Oh. Okay. Okay, so Sam had done this already. So, it wasn't a big deal, right? Doesn't have to be if you're not hot for your brother, Dean's mind oh-so-graciously reminded him. To which he almost rolled his eyes, because enough of this shit, already. It took him a moment to realize that Sam was staring at him, a somewhat amused look on his face. “What?”  
“Are you gonna go, or... do you need me to come hold it for you?” Sam teased, propping himself up on his elbow.  
Dean let out a somewhat shuddering breath and muttered, “Shuddup, Sam.”  
“Whatever,” Sam remarked, rolling back over. “Oh, and, dude? When you get your body back after a week and it smells like sewage, that'll be your problem to deal with. But I'd like to be clean. So, if you don't mind, take a shower.”  
Well, fuck. Dean nodded slowly, willing his dick to stay down at the thought, and picked up Sam's duffel from the nightstand to retrieve a new set of clothing.  
Sam shot up like he'd heard gunfire and was at Dean's side in an instant. “Here, I'll, uh... Just let me... let me do that.”  
But it was too late. Dean's fingers had already closed around the object tucked away safely in the bottom of the bag that Sam was praying he wouldn't find. “Sammy, Sammy, Sammy...”  
Sam felt all of the blood in his body rush to his face. “I... I didn't... I don't...”  
“Dude.” Dean clapped a hand on his shoulder upon noticing his reaction. There were a lot of things he could tease Sam for, but this was just a bit of a big deal. It was very private. A part of his brother's life that he obviously wasn't ready for anyone to know about, and maybe never would be. Especially not Dean, of all people. Not that Dean would ever judge Sam for anything. But if Sam didn't want to discuss it, then they wouldn't. Plain and simple. “It's cool. Never happened, alright? Grab me some clothes. We're wasting daylight, here. I’m sure there's a bar in this town.”  
Sam didn't respond, but hurriedly pulled an outfit from the bag and thrust it into his brother's hands.  
Dean wanted to say something else. Really, he did. But he wasn't sure what he could say, exactly, without upsetting Sam. He'd never really dealt with a situation like this before. So he just headed for the bathroom and pulled the door shut behind him.   
Undressing Sam's body wasn't... extremely difficult. He'd seen his brother naked countless times, and this wasn't really much different. Taking a leak, actually, once he'd gone through with it, wasn't as bad as he'd thought it would be, either. It really was second nature, just as Sam had said. Showering, though... Well, Dean decided there were some things that could handle waiting a week for Sam to wash on his own. Because, really, touching any part of Sam's naked, wet, soapy body while thinking about what he'd accidentally found hidden in the bottom of his sweet, innocent, straight-as-a-rod (or so he'd thought), baby brother's bag was just more than Dean could take. So washing his dick was kind of out of the question unless he wanted to end up so hard he had no choice but to take care of it. And he was not jacking off in the shower. Because that would mean jacking Sam off. The thought of which was so. fucking. not. getting him just as hard as touching it would have. Seriously.


End file.
